


Darling, your looks can kill, so now you’re dead

by ADyingFlower



Series: Noctis Appreciation Week [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Conditioning, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Manipulation, Erotomania, Forced Relationship, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships, Victim Blaming, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11917677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADyingFlower/pseuds/ADyingFlower
Summary: Prompt: Treasured MemoriesNoctis owns a memory box.It’s something his therapist, after Tenebrae, after his legs, after his nursemaid, recommends him. Something to remind him of happier times when the aching pit of loss slumps inside him.He smiles and agrees, not mentioning it’s something he’s already held for years. But now this had a name, the assortment of thing he’s collected tucked so preciously in his secret drawers away from prying eyes.





	Darling, your looks can kill, so now you’re dead

**Author's Note:**

> This is the darkest thing I think I've ever written, and yet I've had the most fun with it. Wtf me. Just saying, READ THE TAGS THIS IS DARK AND MESSY AND IM SORRY NOCTIS WHY DO I DO THIS TO YOU. Title is from Little Death from the Neighborhood and may or may not change.

Noctis owns a memory box.

It’s something his therapist, after Tenebrae, after his legs, after his nursemaid, recommends him. Something to remind him of happier times when the aching pit of loss slumps inside him.

He smiles and agrees, not mentioning it’s something he’s already held for years. But now this had a name, the assortment of thing he’s collected tucked so preciously in his secret drawers away from prying eyes.

  


It starts before he could even really remember.

His father would comment fondly over dinner he was always a bit of a hoarder, hiding a precious gift once received and never letting other’s lay their eyes on it. He remembers bits and pieces, of playtime with Ignis interrupted by the dreaded homework, listening with half an ear as the older boy mutters to himself over the essay questions, crunching a paper once he realized his mistake in writing with pen and starting over again.

He remembers lingering in the play room long after Ignis left for his own home, eyes fixated on the crunched up paper, Ignis’ neat scrawl creating slight grooves in the paper. Proof that he was there, proof that he _existed_.

Before he could think better of it, the paper was in his pocket, a warm weight that followed him for the next week until he pressed it reverently in his drawer all the maids knew not to go in.

  


Noctis realized soon enough that things were either ‘his’ or ‘not his’. The Citadel wasn’t his. The servants who have taken care of him since birth were his. Cor and Clarus aren’t his. Ignis is. The Regalia isn’t his. Luna verges on being his.

When he meets Luna for the first time, she smiles like the moon and her hair floats in the wind like scattered flower petals, perhaps like the rich purple of the sylleblossoms.

Within a day of just the two of them playing together in the gardens of the Fenestala Manor, he decides that she is his, before his father interrupts his musings with talk of the duties Luna will one day take on, like he will someday.

An Oracle belongs to the people, his father had said, and hot rage had curled in his stomach like a seething snake, venom dripping from its fangs. How dare they?! How dare they take something so light for their selfish desires?!

It had calmed, over the days spent in the sunlit room with Luna’s two furry dogs and her ever present companion, Gentiana. He thinks, distinctively, that Gentiana is Luna’s like Noctis wants Luna to be to him.

But then Niflheim invades, and Luna is taken away.

  


He promises himself, months later when he no longer felt the need to scrape  off the algae clinging to his bones, that he’ll take her back. Even if she isn’t his, Umbra belongs to him and so does the notebook, and that serves as reminder enough. Some parts of her still belong to him.

The simmering anger low in his stomach, the reminder that something of his was taken away and the reminder that it could happen again any moment, never goes away.

  


Gladiolus is a storm, a menace waiting to collapse within himself and take everyone with him on the whirlwind tornado that is his personality.

Clarus belongs to his father, so will Gladiolus belong to him?

  


No. He doesn’t think so.

Noctis watched Gladiolus spar with a fellow glaive in training, their moves too fast for the average eye to see. The practice sword has just enough of a pack to it that the shaved side slides just right against Gladiolus forearms, a long cut beading blood unnoticed to them.

For the rest of the match, he watches the cut drip blood steadily through the match, watches Gladiolus laugh when he notices and brings it up to his lips, sucking away the cherry red and leaving a faint smear across his bottom lip he licks away with a laugh.

When the two of them leave and the training room is empty once more, Noctis emerges from his hiding spot, eyes affixed on the little blood speckles scattered across the room like flower petals. He slows near one of the bigger specks, sliding to his knees entranced by the blood.

He’s seen enough blood for a lifetime, and yet this is new

Before he can think better of it, he’s dipping his finger in the red and sticking it back in his mouth.

  


It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, beside those Tenebrae cakes they served at the Fenestala manor. Those are the best.

  


Over the next few months, he adds to his collection.

He steals food off Ignis’ fork, supposedly to annoy the older boy. In reality, he thinks about the traces of saliva over the fork and feels pure contentment settle over him. With Ignis, it’s almost as if he can let himself be his true self, warm and noting every little tick Ignis has, the way his smooth voice that can lull him to sleep has a slightly scratchy quality when he drinks too much coffee or the way he takes ginger ale with his pain pills when he was up to 12:42 the night before .

When Gladiolus eats before their training sessions, he expands upon his taste for the bright starbursts of pain. Presses on the bruises littering his skin with morbid fascination, in the way Gladiolus bites his lip when he presses hard enough of the third rib down on the left side. He steals the leftover food that miss the trash when he’s careless and licks the lingering taste away, presses his own teeth to the imprint left in the apple and wonders how he can get his hands on some of their baby teeth. Maybe he’ll have to pull one out himself, then.

Ignis was his from the very first moment he took Noctis’ much smaller hands in his and promised to be his friend forever. Gladiolus takes a bit longer to warm up, but then he meets a small girl with acorns clenched in trembling hands and stars dotting in her eyes. He takes her quivering shoulders under his arm, clenched like a butterfly's wings plastered together under the rain and begging for freedom.

Perhaps….

When they arrive back at the Citadel, he takes the blame for her actions, not wanting to see her punished for flying off like bees to sugared water. It was an inevitable part of nature, nobody should find fault in something she can’t resist, like he struggles with the urge to want to bury himself under Ignis skin.

If anyone was going to rip her wings out, it was going to be him.

  


Gladiolus hesitates for what feels like forever, before finally deciding to break a gap that was only visible to him.

That night, Noctis breaks into the Amicitia house to steal some of Gladiolus’ (Gladio now, he reminded himself with the taste of victory) baby photos. And then some of Iris’, because while she isn’t his yet she will be and it's tiring making more than one trip.

Ignis’ baby photos were lonely anyhow.

  


Noctis nibbled off the edges of Ignis plate, stealing a half eaten piece of meat and running his tongue over the bite marks. The older man was currently talking to some socialite or the other, doing the required smooching Noctis couldn’t be bothered with.

Gladio taps the back of his seat with his foot, required to stand behind him like a creep the entire meal. A silent reminder to pay attention. But it’s hard, because Ignis is being his usual charming self and the person he’s talking with his star-struck and can’t keep their hands off of his advisor, his selfless, warm, kind friend.

 _Mine_.

He bites down hard on his fork, relishing in the painful clench of his teeth on the metal. It brings a little clarity through the haze of grey flooding his vision. He never understood why people insisted rage was red, to him, red was comforting. It ran hot under his fingers and soothed him like he was being enveloped back in the womb.

When he’s mad, everything drains of its beautiful colors and is instead left in stark reality. And now?

Noctis is _furious_.

He stands from his seat abruptly, Gladio a step behind him as he made his way towards Ignis. This social gathering was vital to establishing connections to the lower nobility, and more importantly, had surveillance. He couldn’t do anything to the man without possibly being thrown in the dungeons himself.

That was fine. Blood wasn’t as pretty when it didn’t belong to him.

  


Days later, he awoke in the infirmary in the Citadel, his father's panicked expression above him as he held his rail thin hand. Several IVs were implanted all along his forearm and his joints ached with disuse.

Assassination attempt, his father told him when he blearily questioned what happened. What a shame, that the no-naming noble from the outlying lands had used Ignis as bait only to slip poison in the water he plucked from the serving tray for the Crown Prince. The man had barely a trial, and over his screaming protests they had hung drawn and quartered him right in the Citadel square.

His father was just glad he was alright, and that to push thoughts of the man straight out of mind. Noctis nodded shakily, clutching his father’s hand with real weakness. He would be in the infirmary for at least a week more and recovery for a month while they flushed the remains of the toxic poison out of his system.

Over his father’s shoulder, he could see Ignis, pale and shaken. Never again would his advisor let himself be distracted from Noctis’ safety.

He licked the remains of blood off his teeth and buried a smile in his father’s raiments.

  


Iris smiled shyly at him over the cloth in her lap, needle steady and the shape of a moogle beginning to take shape in the embroidery. He smiles back, seeing blue butterfly wings behind her and iris flowers carving into the skin of her cheek.

He wonders what it would taste like to carve her face off.

  


Noctis meets Prompto on the first day of high school.

Well, technically not, he supposes. He remembers a chubby boy who followed him around occasionally, before he stopped showing up and missing school more and more often. They went to different middle schools, but it looks like fate brought them here together once more.

The boy smiled up at him so brightly, shining like the moon itself because the sun burned both good and bad things away in its light while the moon was the only light that was never harmful. Prompto’s skin was just pale enough that the red would shine more beautifully than perhaps even Iris’, and the freckles only reminded him of stars peppering across his skin.

Noctis smiled back and mentally added Prompto to his.

  


Prompto was different than any of the other his. Always eager to please, never faltering or making Noctis feel like something is wrong with him, that he shouldn’t see a professional and that it’s okay to immediately imagine someone with their body flayed open.

But Prompto is different, and perhaps that what makes Noctis want to collect so many things of his. If Prompto insisted on throwing away so many different parts of himself, then Noctis would pick them up and dust them off, add them to his memory box forever and always.

  


Ignis and Gladio were too high trained for him to do this before. When he broke into either one of their houses for one reason or the other (sometimes he just something more of them when they weren’t around often enough for his liking), he was always careful to never go near any of the bedrooms. It was usually fine, laundry rooms were in the bellows of the mansions and picture books could be found in the sitting room off the main kitchen and the library, with respect to Gladio and Ignis.

But Prompto was a civilian, and thus had never military training in his life. He didn’t sleep light, didn’t even stir when Noctis crawled right on top of him and shoved his fingers up his shirt to feel his ribs press against the palm of his hands.

He got what he wanted, really. The baby photos stuffed in the bottom of the drawer underneath a letter from Luna and he stole a well worn shirt that would keep the smell of Prompto with him until he had to get a new one to add to the well preserved collection under his bed.

But….

Prompto’s hair was so pretty in the light spilling over from the street, and before he was even really conscious of it he was holding a pair of stolen scissors and severing a lock near the back of his head into his open hand.

Noctis brought the stolen hair to his face and inhaled as much as he could, wanting to imprint the feel of it with him forever.

  


Right next to a stolen pair of Ignis’ lens and a piece of fabric cut away stained with brown blood, a piece of blond hair tied with a unevenly cut red ribbon sat in the sealed bottle in the hidden compartment under his bed.

  


Iris became his a couple months later when she sat with him on the Amicitia porch swings, her head gently resting on his shoulder as they sat in silence waiting for Gladio to come home from his date.

His teeth clenched at the reminder, and he wondered if he had to have another ‘accident’ to fix their priorities.

To get his mind off Gladio and his recent trip, he asked Iris about what she thought of him, more out of boredom and also of the strange feelings he’s been having lately when the servants gossip behind closed hands when he draws near.

She paused for a moment, and he wondered if she could see the darkness lingering in his skin, the desire to break those that belong to him and even more so the ones who don’t.

Kind, she started, breaking him out of his revere. So very kind.

She looked up at him, and stars no longer dotted in her eyes. Her wings had grown out, a child no longer and something foreign in her eyes that reminded him of himself, a moonless night with darkness so heavy even the stars were blotted out.

Ah. She went snooping in his room, then.

Unraveling the red ribbon around her wrist, she held it out to him like an offering to a god. The old ribbon was getting threadbare, was her excuse.

His.

  


He dreamt that night of sitting on his father’s throne, watching Ignis split his wrist with one of his trusty knives and pour him a glass of blood straight from the vein, and had smiled at him with that same caring smile when Noct’s chin stained red.

  


Prompto was a pawn on the chessboard, and he had always been the King in this particular game. He smiled when Noctis smiled first, laughed when he did. Lit up from the smallest of praises and would cut little neat matching lines into his thigh that Noctis had kissed when he was sleeping when Noctis pointed out one of his flaws.

Sometimes, he drugged his soda and manipulated Prompto’s sleeping body to follow his own, undressed him just enough to kiss at the little self-harm marks littering his stomach and upper legs, pressed the bare skin against his own and idly thought about biting the shell of his earlobe off.

He wouldn’t have to do this if Prompto kept on insisting on keeping his distance. If he just slept over every once and awhile, he wouldn’t have to drug him like this and make him strip.

Prompto never let himself relax about his body, not like Ignis or Gladio or Iris. Never let his shirt ride up, never wore shorts above the knee or take off that stupid, stupid wristband.

Noctis sucked at the skin under the wristband, wondering if he should just tear the skin marked by the Niflheim barcode right off and fix whatever insecurities were plaguing him. Prompto forced him to do a lot of things, he didn’t have the grant of being childhood friends to get him to relax about him eating off his fork or seeing Noctis wear his clothes when he never leant them in the first place. It was a pain, really. At least like this, sleeping and slumped against him while Noctis played with his hair, they could be as close as he wanted them to be.

  


Iris and him were laying in the gardens together, Noctis on his phone playing King’s Knight while she made flower crowns with soft hums. The two of them had been spending time together increasingly lately, Noctis almost gleeful over finding someone who he could talk with hours over about his more violent thoughts without getting concerned looks for.

But today, he was off in his own head. Prompto had begged off hanging out today to spend time finishing his group project with his assigned group in science class, and just the thought of Prompto letting his guard down around others have him biting his ring finger nail right off.

Before he could think about it, he started mumbling about Prompto to his closest companion (her hair now barely past her ears, and thoughts of when she handed him scissors weeks ago and told him to take as much as he wanted made some of his imagination cool down). The mumbles ran together into one long continuous steam, about the way he was always so kind to everyone he met to Noctis’ frustration or the contrast between his eyes and the bright scarlet of his cheeks when he was embarrassed or even the way his hands folded around a pen when he bit down anxiously on the end of it..

You sound like you love him, Iris told him him with a slightly strangled voice.

Did he love Prompto? He didn’t really want to kiss Prompto, he didn’t think, or hold his hand either. What did he want then…?

He wanted to crack open his ribs, slit his chest open and feel his trembling heart under his hand. Crawl inside him and make a home out of his body, wrap the carcass like it was his own skin so they would merge together and never be alone either. He wanted to wrap his hands around that thin throat and strangle any words out that blue mouth, wanted to bite his tongue right off and swallow the slippery appendage down his throat.

Noctis imagined holding Prompto’s life in his hands, secure with the knowledge that this belonged to him alone and that he could snuff it out with barely a breath.

Ah. Was this love?

  


Gladio was injured protecting him from a drunk stranger that raised a broken beer bottle over his head, furious at the crown for neglecting the outlying regions and seeing the defenseless Prince right in front of them.

The world went grey, as grey as the hospital walls as the doctors sutured the scar shut and the older man hushed forgiveness into his ear.

No, he wasn’t mad at Gladio. Gladio could rip out his heart from his still breathing body and Noctis would let him, because Gladio belonged to him and maybe he belonged a bit to them as well. He was furious about the drunk stranger, the terror and the blood that he had guiltily sucked away from his fingers as the ambulance drove away and how he couldn’t remember the stranger’s features clearly over the panic.

Gladio assured him it was okay, but it wasn’t, really.

  


Ignis was busy cleaning up the political mess, Gladio was still in med bay half blind, and Iris was consumed by both Gladio’s work that was left to her and fussing over him.

Prompto was wide eyed underneath him as he gripped tightly at his collar, feeling like he was tossed off to sea without any support and left to drift out over the open sea.

He just needed - He just -

Noctis leant down and bit down into the tender skin of Prompto’s shoulder, and _tore_.

Prompto was screaming underneath him, a cacophony of shrieks and broken sobs as he thrashed against the hold he had on his shoulder, fists beating against him in a weak struggle. Blood was staining the white shirt he was wearing, rivulets running down his chin as he chewed and dug further in.

Someone was knocking loudly on the door, asking if they were alright, barely heard over Prompto’s incomprehensibles howls of pain. Reluctantly, he released the grip his teeth had and swallowed the rest of the blood.

He assured the stranger that yes, they were fine, that no, they didn’t need an ambulance. Prompto had quieted down, clutching his misshapen shoulders with betrayal in his eyes. He wondered for a moment if he should give a potion to him, if only to seal the risk of infection.

But...the idea of his teeth always being imprinted there forever, that Prompto wouldn’t be able to escape him with a bright red tag of his bite mark following him for the rest of his life, made him almost glee with giddy. So he sat beside him with bandages ransacked from the medical closet, running his stained fingers through his hair and staining the locks brown while carefully bandaging it, making soothing sounds all the while against Prompto’s occasional sob.

  


Prompto didn’t come to school for the rest of the week.

  


_Stay with me forever,_ he sang into Prompto’s hipbone as he shivered and broke apart in front of him, pale fingers clenching the bedsheets and wrists stained a dark purple. _Swear it._

Prompto, with his red-rimmed eyes and blood seeped bandages, nodded with a faint look of one having an invisible shackle closed over their wrist.

Noctis cooed encouragement and songs of his love, anything to make Prompto not be so scared of him. It was silly. What reason did Prompto have to be afraid of him?

 

One afternoon while waiting for Gladio to come back from the bathroom, Noctis flipped through the hospital's magazines they left on the side table.

It was a study, about how many organs could a human live without. Distantly, he wondered if Prompto had had his appendix removed yet, and if not, how to convince him to give it up so he could put it in his memory box, though a part of his brain that lingered in the moonless night nigh-constantly chanted the same two words over and over again.

_Eat it eat it eat it eat it eat it eat it eat it eat it -_

  


Gladio got better. Ignis and Iris started hanging out with him more, letting him eat off their plates or knack a button or a ribbon from them.

He didn’t stop his love with Prompto. If anything, it got worse.

Of course, he loved Prompto just as he was. He was just accenting the finer points of him, highlighting the delicate curve of his wrist with purple when he wouldn’t let Noctis hand feed him dinner he made just for him, pressing hand prints onto his hips when Prompto shuddered softly as he pressed their bodies together as the blond washed the dishes with shaking hands.

Prompto’s health got worse over the next month, despite all his extra care and attention. The bags hung deep over his cheekbones no matter how many sleeping pills Noctis dropped in his sodas, weight practically washed out of him until he could trail his fingers along each of his ribs despite the food forced down his throat every night. Noctis had taken to letting Prompto stay at his apartment to help him get better, but no matter what he does he’s only getting worse.

  


A week later, Noctis starts getting desperate.

  


Come back to me, he wants to say, running his hands along Prompto’s too skinny chest in hopes of arousing any response at all. None. Prompto looks over his straddled body with a dull sheen to his eye that reminds him of Luna’s mom after she was stabbed straight through the spine.

He huffs angrily, yanking his own shirt off. Still no reaction.

It’s when he begins to slide Prompto’s boxers down that he finally gets a reaction. A high-pitched whine gets caught in his throat as he starts to thrash underneath him, so scared of this new thing, like a bird discovering that it could fly away from the nest it's been living its whole life.

Noctis shushed him gently, pulling the boxers off the rest of the way and flinging them somewhere behind him. He has the lube in his hands when Prompto starts to panic underneath him, eyes blown wide and looking more alive than he has in the past months.

Nothing he does seem to calm him, so he just pushes a hand against his neck as he pulls Prompto’s bottom side onto his knees, preparing him as gently as he could to the sound of Prompto’s chokes and the way his neck tensed under his hand, piano fingers scrambling at his wrist to pull them off. He releases his neck just long enough to pull of his own boxers, catching a glimpse of Prompto’s expression.

It’s terrified and half-crazed, all pure fear and loss in his eyes.

Noctis smiled. He knew it was Prompto’s virginity, but it would be alright. He would take good care of him, making sure that nothing ripped. First times were supposed to be nice.

“No.”

He stopped, smile freezing. Prompto was glaring up at him, hands pushing him back desperately as he struggled to get away.

That - That can’t happen.

His hand slashed out, latching into the Prompto’s hair and pulling him back with a startled scream. Fuck making the first time nice, how dare Prompto try to reject him?! He was _his_ , dammit, he took good care of his things and this was how he repaid him? Denying him the one thing he wanted?

Noctis shoved him back down on the bed, dug his nails into the fragile skin under Prompto’s knees, and thrust inside him without any preamble.

Prompto shrieked.

It was good, better than - _god_ \- He was barely paying any mind to Prompto’s wails and screams, in the way his legs kicked out and tried futilely to scramble away. Noctis couldn’t bring himself to care about his resistance, not when he was _inside_ Prompto, wrapped in his warmth and practically being eaten alive.

Wrapping his hand around Prompto’s neck, he adjusted the knee propped over his shoulder and bit into the tender skin of his inner thigh. Prompto’s struggles started to weaken underneath him as he continued to shove his hips into Prompto, leaving long strips of saliva down his throat as he nibble here and there, the rage washing out as the pure bliss of finally owning something completely came to him.

Prompto’s arms fell to his side, gaze empty as he stared past his shoulder with tears leaking steadily over the sides of his face and dripping into his hair. He looked almost as if he was being crucified underneath him, killed and reborn all in one night as he was dragged up and down on the bed.

His grip tightened on Prompto’s neck as his orgasm started to approach, groaning lowly right near the half-healed bite mark scarring his shoulder, laying small kisses all over the puckered skin, a steady chant of _you’re so good for me Prom so beautiful god I love you stay here with me forever never leave me so lovely love you so much -_

With a stuttered groan, he realized he forgot to put on a condom as he came deep inside Prompto, leaving an unremovable trace all over his insides.

Feeling his way down Prompto’s chest, he realized Prompto was never actually hard. He shrugged. He would handle cleanup, and that should handle that. Really now, Prompto should let him be selfish now and again.

Weren’t they in love?

  


Prompto disappeared a week and a half later. The men he hired for the job, soldiers who needed a little extra cash in their pocket and didn’t mind getting their hands dirty, found him in Galdin Quay trying to board a boat to Altissia.

Noctis tried to cut off his fingers in punishment to put in a soup, but was only disappointed when the knife proved to not be strong enough to cut through the bones. Turned out bones are really stronger than wood, who knew. He fucked Prompto again afterwards anyhow over the dinner table, and turned his wrists blue in the shape of a ziptie.

  


Iris helped him pack up Prompto’s apartment, an easy smile on her face and a skip in her step as she tossed stray clothing items into a garbage bag.

She promised him happily that things will get better now that Noctis is here, and Prompto only sniffed from where he was lying on the couch, ankle bruised and swollen to prevent another escape attempt. Iris patted him on the head almost patronizingly, scooting some of his magazines that were tossed around on the coffee table into the bag.

Noctis could feel himself settle somewhat at the scene of the two of them, the grey that had been blinding him over the last couple weeks due to Prompto’s recent attempts to run away receding at last.

The two of them were finally moving in with one another, wasn’t that great? Noctis quit Prompto’s job for him, promising to pay for his hobbies out of his own pocket. It was better protected at his own apartment, and after...recent events, he didn’t trust Prompto on his own anymore. He would have to start installing locks on all the kitchen and bathroom drawers.

So here they were, getting ready to move in together. He smiled to himself gleefully, catching Prompto watching the plastic water bottle sitting inconspicuously on the counter. Catching his eye, Noctis took a long swallow of the drink, licking his lips afterward with a silly grin.

Prompto fiddled with the bandages around his wrists, choosing to stare at the threadbare blanket wrapped around his waist rather than keep eye contact. Noctis shrugged, not at all bothered by his lackluster enthusiasm lately. It would take time, but he was sure Prompto would come around eventually.

They were made for each other, after all. Noctis needed someone to handle his desire to see flesh rend under him, and Prompto needed someone to take control of his life and pull those self-destructive thoughts right out of him. Sacrifices had to be made occasionally, but they would make it work, because Prompto belonged to him and he belonged to Prompto, however little the blond knew about that.

They finished in record time, leaving Iris alone to start up the car and the two of them in the fast emptying apartment. Of course, Noctis told Prompto then, he would keep paying the lease and bills for the empty home for when Prompto’s parents came home from work.

The threat was clear, and Prompto flinched under his touch when he picked him up tenderly, dropping a kiss on his forehead right next to a blossoming bruise high on his temple.

 _Love you_ , he murmured as they walked to the elevator. Prompto didn’t say anything else, just dropped his head on his shoulders in dull resignation, gazing out on some far off point lost to the distance.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Umm.... Sorry? 
> 
> I really liked Iris' role in this. Most yandere!Noct fics display Ignis or Gladio as his accessory in crimes due to being duty bound, but I found Iris fit the emotional manipulation the best. She's young, she's gullible to Noctis in particular, and she's seeking approval from anywhere. I never said _Prompto's_ the one with Stockholm syndrome, did I?
> 
> Feel free to hit me up, whether to yell at me for abusing Prompto like this or whether your confused, just comment away! I am now resisting the urge to write more yanderes god I have a problem


End file.
